


a midnight gift exchange of hearts

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Secret Santa(ception), people taking secret santa WAY too seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28200606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: When Bernie was brought on as head of the science department at St. Winifred’s secondary school, she and Serena inevitably butted heads. As deputy headteacher, and one of the longest standing faculty in the department, Serena didn’t take kindly to Bernie pushing in on her territory. Some of their early rows were the stuff of legend among the other faculty.Despite all that, they came to understand one another, and eventually became the closest of friends. Bernie treasures the time they spend together, their friendship one of the most important she’s ever had in her life.Which is why it's so damnably inconvenient that she also has a rather desperate crush on Serena.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 36
Kudos: 101
Collections: Berena Secret Santa 2020





	a midnight gift exchange of hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daisydoctor13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisydoctor13/gifts).



> Written as a part of Berena Secret Santa for the wonderful daisydoctor13. I hope you enjoy this bit of fluffy holiday nonsense, my friend!
> 
> Prompts were 'Celebration', 'Jealousy', and 'AU' - all of which I tried to mash together in this outing
> 
> Special thanks to Beth for helping me workshop the idea, Bonnie for her unfailing support and outstanding beta skills, and Bat for hosting enough sprints that I actually finished the whole thing! And a big thank you to Wonko for hosting another successful event 😊

“Will this bloody term never end?”

Bernie looks up from the pile of tests she’s marking in time to see the frown on Serena’s face as she storms into the office. She must’ve just come in from outside, Bernie thinks; her normally neat as a pin hair is ruffled, sticking up in places, and her cheeks are flushed red. It might look a fright on someone else, but on Serena the wash of color just makes her eyes sparkle even more than usual, emphasizing her beauty.

Pushing that thought away viciously, Bernie turns back to her papers.

“Not too long now,” she says, scrawling a note next to one of the answers.

“Well it can’t come fast enough,” Serena grumbles, pulling folders from her file cabinet. Bernie just hums in agreement, watching Serena from beneath lowered lashes as she bustles about the office.

When Bernie was brought on as head of the science department at St. Winifred’s secondary school, she and Serena inevitably butted heads. As deputy headteacher, and one of the longest standing faculty in the department, Serena didn’t take kindly to Bernie pushing in on her territory. Some of their early rows were the stuff of legend among the other faculty.

Despite all that, they came to understand one another, and eventually became the closest of friends. Bernie treasures the time they spend together, their friendship one of the most important she’s ever had in her life.

Which is why it's so damnably inconvenient that she also has a rather desperate crush on Serena.

At times, usually when she’s home alone and on her second whiskey of the night, she blames Serena. All her natural charm, flirtatious and caring in turns, wrapped up in a package of enticing curves and a smile that could rival the sun - how could Bernie help but fall head over heels for her? 

But no, Bernie knew the problem was her own hopelessness from day one. Fresh out of the army, building a new life as a teacher, and she broke what Alex always referred to as ‘the first rule of lesbianism.’

Never fall for a straight girl.

Most days, Bernie was able to keep her feelings boxed up, tucked away in the back of her mind. She decided long ago that her friendship with Serena was far too important to risk with an awkward declaration of feelings, and nothing in the time since has convinced her otherwise. 

“We could go for a drink tonight,” Bernie says, trying not to sound too eager. “You can tell me how terrible all of your students are over a bottle of Shiraz. My treat.”

That brings a genuine smile to Serena’s face, one that sets Bernie’s heart to flopping about.

“That sounds lovely.” The smile fades as she shoves another folder into her case. “Unfortunately, I already agreed to discuss the required revisions of the PE curriculum with Robbie. We were going to grab a bite to eat while we work.” She looks up, brow furrowing slightly. “Rain check?”

“Of course,” Bernie manages, a muscle in her jaw jumping slightly, face carefully blank. 

Robbie Medcalf. The new physical education teacher, and Bernie’s latest source of consternation.

The moment he arrived at St Winifred’s, Robbie attached himself to Serena, seeking out her advice at every opportunity. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d come into the office, only to find the burly man perched on the edge of Serena’s desk, bending her ear and peering down her blouse. 

It might not have been so bad, except that Serena flirts the way other people breathe - effortlessly - and she blossomed under Robbie’s attention, quickly wrapping him around her little finger. Not that Bernie could blame the man. There was almost nothing she wouldn’t do for Serena. At the moment, that meant an increased tolerance for too strong cologne and over exaggerated tales of former footie glory.

“Looks like there’s romance in the air,” Chantelle bubbled as Bernie pours her coffee in the staff lounge the next morning. “Mr Malick told me that she saw Mr Medcalf and Ms Campbell snogging in the parking lot on his way out last night.”

A nauseating wave of jealousy washes over Bernie, emotional pain replaced a moment later by the very real physical pain of scalding hot coffee spilling over her hand. At least it gives her a reason to escape the conversation. She spends the rest of her break hiding in the office, wishing the ice she holds to her injured hand could also ease the pain of her broken heart.

 _You knew this would happen_ , she tells herself firmly over several glasses of whiskey that night. _Serena’s gorgeous. Of course she’s not going to be single forever. She’s your friend, you want her to be happy._ _That’s enough._

Maybe if she repeats it enough times she’ll finally come to believe it.

\- - -

The first of December brings a hint of frost to the air of Holby, extra layers of scarves and mittens appearing on teachers and students alike. Along with it comes extra planning for exams and holiday events, the days stretching long enough that it’s dark when they leave each night.

Settled in the pub just down the block, Serena flips through a stack of curriculum guidelines with one hand, glass of wine in the other. Bernie is careful not to drip on the pages as she tops her up, and Serena’s grateful smile makes her heart thud a little faster.

“How is it you never seem to have any paperwork to do?” Serena asks, eyes narrowing. Setting down the bottle, Bernie shrugs a bit.

“Because my deputy head is brilliant and efficient and makes my life infinitely easier?” She keeps her tone light, gratified that the compliment brings a soft flush to Serena’s cheeks. “More like I have no life outside of school walls. Easier to keep up on it all when it’s the only thing you do.”

Serena hums softly at that, taking a sip of her wine. 

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” she says, her tone carefully neutral. “Surely you’ve got women lining up at your door for a date.”

Bernie barks out a laugh. “Hardly! No, I’m afraid the only date I’ve been on of late is with my boxset of _The Avengers_.”

“You really should get out there, you know. Seems a shame to keep all to yourself.” A twinkle returns to Serena’s eyes as she leans in conspiratorially. “Though I can’t fault your choice in entertainment. I know everyone’s all about Emma Peel, but I had _such_ a crush on Cathy Gale.”

They both freeze, eyes locked. Bernie can hardly hear over the blood rushing in her ears, brain balking at the implication of the statement. A kind of terrified hope tightens her throat, holding the questions racing in her mind at bay. 

The silence stretches, nearly crackling with tension. Something Bernie can’t define crosses Serena's face, and she sets down her glass, shoulders straightening as she takes a breath to speak.

“Alright you two.” Fletch’s words shatter the silence so swiftly that Bernie jumps a bit, startled. “Budge up.” She sees Malick, Chantelle and Morven chatting and laughing behind him, all clearly waiting for them to make space.

Sliding further into the booth, Bernie catches Serena’s eyes for a moment, sees a flicker of something she’d almost call regret. And then the conversation washes over them, and the moment is lost.

\- - -

The conversation lingers in Bernie’s mind. She knows it was likely a throw away comment; nothing that she should read into, to be sure. But now it’s burrowed into her brain like a tick, unable to be excised by any kind of logic.

 _Could Serena have meant it_? she wonders on her morning run, breath pluming in the crisp December air. She’d always assumed Serena was straight. Was she wrong?

Bernie thinks back over their friendship, examines it in a new light. Like applying gram stain to a bacterial sample, moments she’d dismissed as Serena’s natural charm and flirtatious nature are cast in a different hue. 

Serena is always tactile, but does she touch any of their colleagues quite as much as she does Bernie? She certainly can’t remember seeing her hand linger against Chantelle’s lower back, or rest just a beat too long on Malick’s shoulder. Once they overcame their issues, it became common for them to go to the pub after work, putting the word to rights over a bottle (or two) of shiraz. That’s what coworkers do, after all. And yet Bernie remembers Fletch teasing that she must be angling for more funds to be allocated to the sciences, because he’d never seen Serena so friendly with a colleague before.

Once the door is opened, Bernie can’t keep from pouring over every touch, every flirtatious word, dissecting them for deeper meaning until her head spins, and she chides herself for being a desperate fool. After all, what does this really change? It was an off-hand comment over a glass of wine. Is that enough to throw herself at Serena’s feet and declare her undying love? 

_She’d think I was barking mad_ , Bernie thinks. _And she’d be right_.

Chantelle’s bit of gossip from the other day surfaces in her mind; another tick in the ‘no way, are you daft?’ column. She hasn’t even gotten up the courage to ask Serena if she is seeing Robbie. If they’re together, and Serena is happy, Bernie would never do anything to damage it. And if they’ve ended things, then she’d look like she was taking advantage, trying to catch Serena at her lowest ebb.

If only she knew for sure. Serena’s friendship means everything to her, and she’s not willing to risk that on a maybe. It would hardly be the first time the revelation of an unrequited crush drove someone she cared for out of her life, and the thought of losing Serena in the same way makes her stomach drop and twist. 

Her phone buzzes just as she jogs to a stop outside her flat, breathing hard, fumbling a bit to pull it from her pocket. She squints down at the email from Fletch, trying to make out the words amidst all the Christmas tree and bauble emojis. 

It’s a reminder that the name draw for the faculty Secret Santa exchange is tomorrow in the staff lounge, the time written boldly at the top. Beneath she skims over the rules of the event. After last year’s exchange, they now include much stronger wording as to what constitutes an appropriate gift between co-workers.

A thought occurs to her, out of the blue. Secret Santa participation is practically a requirement at St Winifred’s, and it’s frowned upon to give colleagues gifts outside of it. If she got Serena’s name, that would give her the opening to test the waters of what Serena might be thinking, without making things awkward with a private gift.

 _It’s perfect_ , she thinks as she heads inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Sure, drawing names is supposed to be random, but she’s certain that Fletch will happily help her out.

“Sorry, Major. No can do.”

Bernie frowns down at Fletch as he digs for something in his desk.

“Why not?” She tries to keep the wheedling tone from her voice, doesn’t want to come off too desperate. “I mean, it’s just Secret Santa, Fletch. Does it really even matter?”

“Easy for you to say,” he huffs, looking up at her. “You’re not the one who had to get a dressing down from Mr Griffin after that mess last year. He made me swear this time everything would be on the up and up.”

“But…” Bernie trails off, trying to come up with some kind of excuse that would sound remotely plausible. “But I already bought something for Serena.”

“Save it for her birthday, yeah?” Fletch gives her a sympathetic smile. “I wish I could help, really.”

Bernie returns the smile, her own wan and drawn.

“I understand.”

“Right. I have to get to class,” he says, tossing off a sloppy salute. “See you at lunch.”

\- - -

The staff lounge is packed full by the time Bernie arrives, every seat taken. She ends up leaning against an open patch of wall at the back, heart fluttering a bit as Serena gives her a sympathetic smile from her seat at the front.

“Alright everyone,” Fletch says cheerfully, a fluffy Santa hat in his hand and flashing reindeer deely boppers on his head. “You all know the rules: one name per person, who you get is a secret until the exchange, and absolutely no swapping names.” His eyes slant toward Ric as he says the last bit, who looks over all of them like they’re recalcitrant students.

Bernie can’t help but keep her fingers crossed in her pocket as he makes his way around the room, stopping at each person and letting them pull from the hat, hopes just maybe she’ll get lucky enough to get Serena’s name by chance. Considering her usual luck, she also tries to catch glimpses of the little scraps of paper, just in case.

“What’s got you so tense?” She hadn’t noticed Malick sidling up to her, and his low voice makes her jump a bit, startled.

“Me? Nothing.” Bernie looks away, shoulders hunched toward her ears. “Just not a fan of the holidays is all.”

“Your turn, Major,” Fletch says cheerily, holding the hat high enough that she can’t peer inside.

Holding her breath unconsciously, she fishes around in the last few slips of paper crumpled down toward the tip of the hat, extracting one of them. She can feel Malick’s eyes on her, makes sure to tuck the scrap in her palm to shield it from prying eyes.

The spark of hope she’s been holding dies when she sees Jac Naylor’s name printed on the paper. Now she not only has to try and figure out who has Serena, she also has to figure out what to get for the acerbic head of the Maths department.

With all the names pulled, the group begins to disperse, everyone chatting and laughing, making sure not to discuss the names within earshot of Ric. As Bernie makes it out into the corridor, Serena falls into step beside her, close enough that their shoulders jostle a bit.

“Get someone good?” Serena asks with a conspiratorial smile that should in no way be as adorable as it is. 

Bernie just shrugs a shoulder in answer. “What about you?”

Something odd flits across Serena’s face, there and gone before Bernie can suss out the reason.

“It wasn’t who I was hoping for,” she says carefully, then seems to shake herself out of it, smile widening. “Still, it’ll be all right in the end.”

Bernie opens her mouth to ask more, but just then the bell rings, the corridor flooding with students a heartbeat later, and Serena disappears into the tide.

It’s fortunate that her class is doing revision prep today, because Bernie’s thoughts are caught up in the nonsense of Secret Santa, and anything she tried to lecture on right now would likely be unintelligible rubbish.

She knows Fletch keeps a tracking list of all the participants, making him the logical place to start. But given his recalcitrance this morning, she doubts she’ll fare much better now. Which leaves going to the faculty one by one, engaging in small talk, and trying to get them to let slip who their giftee is. 

_Shit_.

For the first time Bernie regrets the rather distant relationship she has with most of her colleagues. They’re cordial, to be sure. It’s just that she’s never been one to make friends with her coworkers, preferring to keep her work and personal life separate. 

Some small, rational part of her brain argues that she doesn’t actually have to do this, but she shoves it back down. She has a plan in place; time to execute it.

Class ended, Bernie makes her way to the Food and Nutrition classroom, glad that she has a free period to work with. Chantelle is just cleaning up a demonstration of some kind, and Bernie lingers in the doorway until the last student leaves.

“Ms Wolfe,” Chantelle says, all but beaming. “Fancy seeing you here!”

“Um, yes.” Bernie shifts awkwardly, jamming her hands in her pockets as she enters the room. “I, uh, I thought it was high time that I stopped by.”

“How lovely!”

Chantelle looks at her expectantly, and Bernie fumbles for something to say.

“Are you excited about Secret Santa?” She almost winces at the ham handedness of the segue, but Chantelle doesn’t seem to pay it any mind.

“Oh yes,” she says, that irrepressible grin growing even wider. “It’s my favorite part of the year! I just love getting to know someone better, trying to find the perfect gift. It’s what the season is all about, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Bernie says. “Who did you get, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Now Ms Wolfe,” Chantelle reproaches, looking scandalized. “You know I can’t tell you that. It would be against the rules.”

“Right, of course.” Another avenue closed. Bernie makes a show of looking at her watch, tries to arrange her features in some semblance of distress. “I, uh, I forgot that I have a- a student. Coming to my office.” She jerks a thumb over her shoulder with a weak smile. “Got to go.”

“Of course. Feel free to stop by anytime!” Chantelle’s cheery voice follows as she turns and flees.

\- - -

Bernie feels trapped in some kind of bizarre spy farce in the weeks that follow. She loses track of all the ridiculous excuses and paper thin reasons to converse with the other faculty, each one met with varying degrees of incredulity. 

She’s fairly sure that Malick’s rumbled her from their short chat, his gaze all too suspicious over top of his computer as she stammered her way through the conversation, and she didn’t even get any information for her trouble. Where he had been mildly amused, Jac was downright hostile, practically dressing Bernie down for interrupting a meeting with Zosia March, the newest member of the Maths faculty.

While she expected her intelligence gathering mission to be a struggle, she didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to hide from Serena.

“Did you go see Jac Naylor this morning?”

Bernie’s head snaps up, eyes wide.

“Uh, yes. Why?”

“She was ranting about you wasting her time in the staff lounge,” Serena says, blowing lightly on her steaming mug of coffee. “What on earth did you need from Maths?”

Panic blossoms along Bernie’s nerve endings, her mind racing to come up with some explanation that Serena will believe.

“It was nothing,” she says, keeping her gaze carefully trained on her marking. “Emma Davies is thinking about medical school, and she’s worried about her Maths scores. I wanted to ask Jac if there were any extra revision sessions planned.” 

It sounds plausible enough, and Bernie can’t help being a little proud. Maybe she’s getting the hang of this spy business after all. She risks a glance at Serena, the furrow of her brow denting Bernie’s certainty a bit.

“And you went to her office instead of sending an email? Brave of you.”

Bernie shrugs, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“You’re always telling me I should make more friends around here.”

“Yes, but I certainly didn’t mean Jac Naylor,” Serena says, rolling her eyes. Fortunately, before she can press further, there’s a knock at the office door, a student asking for Serena’s help, saving Bernie from interrogation.

\- - -

Bernie’s break comes when she approaches Morven Digby. The young English teacher has always had a bit of hero worship where Bernie is concerned. Her husband Arthur is quite the military history buff, which is all the entry point Bernie needs to start the conversation.

“I’m sorry, Ms Wolfe,” Morven says, genuinely apologetic. “I don’t want to get in trouble over this.”

“I understand,” Bernie says with a sigh, mind already leaping ahead to what her next step will be.

“Can I ask, whose name are you looking for?”

That makes Bernie hesitate. If she admits that she’s trying to find Serena’s name, it might get back to the woman herself. At the same time, she can’t imagine that Morven would spread rumors, not when she’s already so concerned. 

Pushing aside her normal reticence, Bernie decides to take a chance.

“I’m hoping to trade someone for Ms Campbell’s name.” A wide grin splits Morven’s face.

“I thought so!” She leans forward eagerly across her desk, lowering her voice. “I can tell you that I don’t have her name. And I don’t _know_ who does, but I did see Mr Griffin at the off license last week, loitering around the shiraz section.” She gives an exaggerated wink. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

Bernie nods seriously. “Mums the word, I promise.”

\- - -

“Come in.”

Bernie steps into Ric’s office, nervous butterflies swirling in her stomach. She feels like a student being called before the headmaster.

“Do you have a minute?”

Ric smiles, gesturing to the seat opposite his desk. 

“Of course. What can I do for you, Ms Wolfe?”

She’d been up most of the night formulating how to approach this, how she could direct the conversation to the topic in a way that feels organic. A dozen ideas were considered and discarded, leaving her with one inescapable truth. The only possible option was to take it head on.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Secret Santa exchange.”

One of Ric’s thick salt and pepper eyebrows quirks. “Go on.”

“Rumor has it that you drew Ms Campbell’s name.” She charges forward, getting it all out before he has a chance to respond. “I was hoping we could arrange a trade.”

The brow creeps higher, and Ric leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You do know that trading names is explicitly against the rule of the exchange.”

“I do. It’s just that I actually already bought her a gift, and it’s something that I can’t return.” The excuse sounds lame, and it’s clear from Ric’s expression that he doesn’t buy it for the moment.

“Even if I do have Serena’s name, and I’m not saying that I do, why would I break the rules to trade with you?”

“Consider it a favor,” Bernie says. “I would owe you.”

“And I would look like a massive hypocrite.” Ric shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Ms Wolfe, it’s simply not worth it.”

Desperation fills Bernie as she watches her last opportunity slip away, and she spits out the first thing that pops into her mind.

“I’ll pay you.” They both freeze, staring at one another across the desk. “Say, 50 quid?”

“Ms Wolfe.” Ric’s voice is smooth and nearly subarctic, raising gooseflesh on Bernie’s arms. “Are you offering me a bribe?”

“Um. Yes?”

His eyes go steely hard.

“I suggest that you turn around and leave me office,” he says, never blinking. “My favor to you will be pretending that this conversation never happened. Is that understood?”

Fighting back the urge to salute, Bernie nods her understanding, leaving as quickly as she can manage.

\- - -

“All ready for the gift exchange?” 

Bernie almost drops her mug, only just manages to avoid sloshing hot coffee over her hand. She glances up at Malick as she’s wiping up the mess.

“I was going to pick something up after work.” He looks at her like she’s grown a second head.

“That would be a good plan, if the exchange weren’t after classes today.”

“What?”

“The gift exchange. It’s today.”

All the blood seems to drain for Bernie’s body, the coffee soaked flannel dangling limply from her hand. She’d been so caught in her attempts to get Serena’s name, and the disappointment in her own failure, that she forgot what day it was.

“I, uh, I thought it was tomorrow?”

“Nope.” Malick picks up his own coffee with a snort of laughter. “Hope your giftee is the understanding kind.”

Bernie manages to duck out to the corner shop at lunch, grabs the most expensive bottle of vodka they have, and a package of tissue paper. Wraps the bottle haphazardly in the front seat of her car to save herself from Serena’s laughter.

She second guesses herself when all the gifts are laid out in the lounge. Hers looks like it’s been hastily decorated by a hyperactive toddler in comparison to all of the other neatly wrapped packages, and she knows there’s no way she isn’t going to get ribbed for this. Even Robbie manages to look pleased with himself when he adds his passably wrapped gift to the pile

Worst of all, the seats have been arranged in a large circle, so there’s no opportunity to hide in the back, or slip away. The only positive is when Serena drops into the seat beside her, looking as bright and lovely as on the first day of fall, as opposed to the sheer exhaustion that the end of the term brings.

“All right?” Serena asks, leaning in to nudge Bernie’s shoulder with her own.

“Yeah, fine,” she says with a wan smile.

The exchange is exactly as bad as she expects it to be. Everyone cooing and flailing over ridiculous knickknacks and knit goods that they’d never buy in a million years because that’s what’s expected. It turns out that Fletch had Bernie’s name, and she’s grateful to get a bottle of single malt that she can be genuinely thankful for.

As expected, her gift to Jac goes over like a lead balloon. She looks at the package like it may attack at any moment, features etched with distaste. The wrapping practically falls off at the first touch, and Bernie feels herself flush as Jac looks down at the bottle of glorified plonk.

“Nice to see you put in an effort, Wolfe,” Jac says acerbically, deepening Bernie’s embarrassment.

Serena ends up being the last to open her gift, makes a show of opening the tasteful gift bag that could only hold a bottle of wine.

“Oh my! La Comtesse en Côte Blonde?” She grins at Ric flirtatiously, making Bernie’s stomach squirm uncomfortably. “You do know how to spoil a girl.” 

Stepping across the circle, Serena presses a quick kiss to Ric’s cheek, smile dazzling in response to something he says. Bernie hates the way it makes her chest ache, wishes more than anything that she’d been the one to put that smile on Serena’s face.

Suddenly the festive air feels suffocating. Bernie uses the cover of the chit chat and Christmas music to sneak out the door, focused on getting home and drowning her sorrows as quickly as she can manage. 

“Bernie?” She winces at Serena’s voice, hadn’t realized she followed. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” she lies with a smile. “Just been a long day.”

Serena steps closer, and Bernie’s breath catches in her chest. 

“I was hoping we could talk for a moment?” There’s a tightness in the corners of Serena’s eyes, a tension that Bernie can’t understand. “There, ah, there’s something I wanted to ask you.” Seeing Serena so nervous melts Bernie’s frustration away, focused only on how she can banish her uncertainty.

“You can ask me anything, Serena.” That brings a more genuine smile to Serena’s face, and they gravitate almost imperceptibly closer. Bernie imagines she can feel the warmth radiating from Serena’s body, her mind suddenly overcome with the thought of ducking her head the last few inches, finally finding out how Serena’s kiss would taste…

“Serena!”

They jump apart as if they’d been caught in flagrante delicto instead of having a casual conversation in the corridor. Robbie doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness, walks up to Serena’s side as if he belongs there.

“I wanted to pick your brain about a few things before we leave.” He smiles in a way that Bernie’s sure he thinks is charming. “Maybe I can buy you a drink?”

Serena glances Bernie’s way, brows furrowed, but Bernie just smiles even as her heart seems to constrict.

“Um, all right. Just let me get my coat.” She looks back one last time, dark eyes troubled. “Goodbye, Bernie.”

“Goodbye,” Bernie replies, the word sitting on her tongue like bitter ash.

\- - -

It’s the week of Christmas, and Bernie doesn’t think she could be less in the holiday spirit if she tried. 

She and Serena have barely spoken since term ended, and even then only by text. Serena’s been caught up in all the usual end of year administrative work that needs to be resolved before the next term starts, so Bernie knows she shouldn’t take it personally. Still, the lack of communication weighs on her. At the end of the day, she misses her friend.

The radio silence also drives home the fact that Serena’s not interested in her. Not in the way Bernie so desperately hoped, at any rate. She tries to tell herself that this period of distance is a good thing. That it gives her an opportunity to take her feelings for Serena and box them away, where they belong. Instead she finds herself moping about the flat, heart aching in a way it hasn’t since the IED.

Exacerbating her misery is the fact that tonight is the faculty holiday party. She’s not one for a work party at the best of times, but the thought of going when things are so off kilter with Serena is damn near repulsive. 

For the tenth time that morning she glances at her suit where it hangs on the door of her wardrobe. She’d bought it ages ago, after Serena made some comment about Bernie suiting the look.

 _Bloody lovesick fool_ , she grouses at herself, stuffing the garment in the back of the wardrobe, out of sight.

She just can’t face the party, she thinks. Not without making a right tit of herself in front of Serena, and that certainly isn’t going to help anything. Grabbing her phone from the kitchen table, she swipes to Fletch’s number. It’ll be better if she at least lets someone know she won’t be attending, and it’s easier to lie by text where she can work out exactly what she’s going to say.

She’s dithering over an excuse (Strep throat? Broken ankle? The plague?), when a message blips up on her phone. The sight of Serena’s name makes her traitorous heart do a barrel roll in her chest.

_Looking forward to seeing you tonight. Miss you x_

Bernie stares at the message until the letters seem to float in front of her eyes, as if she can suss out some hidden depth of meaning by sheer force of will. The x at the end gets at least ten solid minutes of consideration, parsing every conceivable permutation of intent. 

In the end, there’s only one possible reply.

_Me too x_

“Whipped. That’s what you are, Wolfe,” she says to the empty room. 

Tossing her phone back down with a sigh, she heads to take a shower. Apparently she has a holiday party to get dressed for.

\- - - 

It’s immediately clear that Chantelle was put in charge of the decorations. Every inch of the rental hall is draped in enough bunting and fairy lights to cover a midsize village. Everywhere Bernie turns is some new gaudy monstrosity, only made worse by the cheesy holiday tunes blaring from the speakers.

At least someone was good enough to spike the punch, she thinks, downing her second glass. 

Making her way to the buffet table to get a refill, she gives the dance floor a wide berth as she has been all night. Tells herself it’s because she’s a terrible dancer. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Serena’s dance card has been full all night. That the sight of her talking and laughing and moving from partner to partner knowing there’s no space for Bernie makes her want to scream.

Worst of all are the look Serena gives her every time their eyes meet. There’s something there that Bernie can’t define, but never fails to set her heart racing. 

It’s damnably distracting, to say the least, and she can only hope that enough alcohol will make the rest of the night bearable.

“Having a good time?” A hand lands on Bernie’s shoulder, sloshing her drink a bit onto her hand, and she looks up to find Ric smiling apologetically.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, shaking the liquid off her hand. “You know me - love a party.”

He chuckles, reaching past to pour a cup of his own, as Bernie sips at her punch, glad of having something to do with her hands.

“Serena was asking about you, before.”

Bernie inhales sharply in surprise, aspirating some of the boozy punch down her throat. She coughs and sputters, enough that Ric gives her a few thumps on the back.

“Sorry,” she wheezes eventually, eyes watering. “What, uh, what was that?”

“Serena,” Ric repeats, watching her with a clearly studied casualness. “She seemed worried that you wouldn’t be here tonight.”

Her eyes flick across the dance floor, unerringly landing on Serena once again. She’s dancing with Robbie; head tilted back in laughter, his hands inching lower down her back than would be appropriate for a coworker in any situation. 

A burn that has nothing to do with alcohol settles in Bernie’s throat.

“Not sure why,” she says bitterly. “She’s clearly too busy for me.”

“Bernie, I’m sure that’s not true.” There’s something close to pity in Ric’s eyes, and it raises Bernie’s hackles.

“It’s fine.” She sets her cup down, hard enough that more of the ruby liquid sloshes over the side. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need some air.”

It’s reasonably warm for an English winter, but the air still carries enough of a chill to shock Bernie’s system as she steps out onto the balcony, contrasting enough that she can feel the flush on her cheeks.

She hates feeling like this - this crawling, clawing jealousy, the desire for more than she has. It’s not Serena’s fault, and the fact that Bernie can’t even bring herself to be happy for her friend feels like the worst kind of weakness.

Fumbling a cigarette and lighter from her pocket, she cups her hand to shield the striker, thumb turning the wheel sharply. Gets nothing but sparks for her trouble.

“C’mon,” she mutters, cigarette dangling from her lips. Just another thing to go wrong.

“Bernie?”

She turns sharply, the lighter slipping from her hand. It skids across the concrete, coming to rest against the sharply pointed toe of Serena’s leopard print pumps. Before Bernie can react, Serena bends down to retrieve the lighter, holding it out like a peace offering.

“Thanks,” Bernie manages, plucking the lighter from Serena’s grasp without touching her.

“I haven’t seen you all night. I was worried.”

There’s something in Serena’s eyes, searching and all too knowing. It makes Bernie feel exposed, like a specimen pinned to a board.

“Nothing to worry about. I’m right as rain.” Bernie forces a crooked, unconvincing smile. “Besides, you’ve been…occupied.”

Serena hums softly, that intense gaze still trained on Bernie’s face, until she has to turn away, propping her elbows on the stone railing. Keeps her eyes trained resolutely forward as she feels Serena step up beside her. They stay like that, side by side with an ocean of distance between them, neither quite sure how to cross the divide.

“I’m sorry.” It’s said softly enough that at first Bernie thinks she misheard. She cocks her head, sees Serena flicking a red lacquered fingernail across a flaw in the masonry.

“What?”

Serena finally looks up, her dark eyes liquid in the silver moonlight.

“I know I’ve upset you,” she says carefully. “I’m not sure how, but whatever I did to push you away, I’m sorry.” 

An ache sets in somewhere behind Bernie’s sternum at the thought that Serena would think any of this was her fault.

“No, Serena. You, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then why-?” She breaks off with a sharp shake of the head. “Never mind. I’m just glad you’re here tonight. I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” she says teasingly, but Bernie knows her well enough to hear the thread of pain beneath her words.

“Not at all.” Instinctively she reaches out to comfort Serena, but stops herself before they make contact, her hand hovering awkwardly. “I was trying to not cramp your style.” Serena frowns, clearly confused. “I mean, I know you and Robbie…I, uh, figured you wouldn’t want to be interrupted.”

“Robbie?” Now Serena’s looking at her like she’s grown a second head. Bernie shifts from foot to foot, wondering how she’s managed to muck this up even more. “What on earth does Robbie have to do with anything?”

Heat flares in Bernie’s cheeks, and she can’t quite meet Serena’s eyes as she explains. “Well, you and he. That is, I thought that you were, are-“ Her hands gesture vaguely between them. “Together.”

A full belly laugh bursts from Serena, startling Bernie enough that she takes a half step back. Serena flails a hand out to grab her arm, whether to keep her from leaving or to support herself as she’s wracked with laughter, Bernie’s not quite sure.

“Where,” she asks once the laughter is mostly under control, mirthful tears sparkling in her eyes, “did you get the idea that I would have _anything_ to do with Robbie Medcalf?”

Bernie winces at that. She already feels like a fool, and the last thing she wants is to admit how this all came about.

“Ah, Chantelle may have mentioned that someone saw you…”

“Saw me what?” 

“Snogging.” Bernie’s eyes flick upward, not able to look at Serena as she says it. “She said she saw you snogging Robbie.”

“He wishes!” Serena’s hand tightens on Bernie’s arm, forces her to make eye contact. “He tried a few weeks ago, in the car park. I told him we were meeting to discuss the new physical education standards.” Her tone goes dry enough to suck the moisture from the air. “He apparently thought that was some sort of artful euphemism.”

Anger swirls in Bernie, mixing with her embarrassment and uncertainty until she’s clenching her jaw so tight it creaks. She turns toward the ballroom, already envisioning the ‘conversation’ she’s going to have with Robbie bloody Medcalf, but Serena’s grip holds fast, keeping her in place.

“Don’t. He’s not worth the trouble, and the last thing I want is to spend another moment talking about him.”

Bernie forces herself to take a slow, deep breath, the red haze clearing from her vision. She realizes with a start that somehow they’ve ended up holding hands, fingers tangled, Serena’s palm smooth and warm against her own. It sends sparks of sensation up along her arm, spreading through her whole body. Serena notices as well, dropping Bernie’s hand like a hot iron, and Bernie would be lying if she said she wasn’t left feeling bereft at the lack of contact.

The atmosphere shifts back to awkwardness, and Bernie turns to look back out over the gardens again in an attempt to bring her ricocheting emotions back under control. From the corner of her eye she sees Serena shooting her fugitive glances, a hand fiddling with something in the pocket of her lovely burgundy dress.

“Serena…”

“I meant to…”

Their words overlap and fade away, both of them chuckling. Bernie inclines her head slightly.

“You first.”

“I thought the Secret Santa exchange went well this year.” The non sequitur has Bernie blinking, befuddled.

“Um, yeah. I suppose so.”

“I have to admit, though, that I was a bit disappointed.” A faint flush warms the apples of Serena’s cheeks. “I, uh, I was hoping to draw your name.”

“M-mine?” 

The blush deepens, creeping across the soft expanse of cleavage that Bernie has absolutely not been looking at, thank you very much.

“Well, you see, I- I may have already bought you a gift.” Her eyes flick away from Bernie’s, a sheepish smile tugging at her mouth. “Embarrassingly, I thought that I could, um, _arrange_ to get your name. I even tried to bribe Fletch to find out who had you, but apparently I’ve lost my touch as the fearsome deputy head.” Bernie can feel a grin creeping across her face as Serena rambles with hardly a pause for breath. “And then Ric made such a damnable fuss about no gifts outside of the exchange, and I couldn’t seem to find a moment to get you alone. So I,” she finally breaks, takes a sharp breath and meets Bernie’s gaze directly. “I thought I could give it to you tonight.”

Serena pulls an envelope from her pocket, practically thrusting it at Bernie, the paper trembling a bit in the night breeze. Bernie can see her name written on the front in Serena’s lovely curling handwriting as she reaches out to take it.

The envelope opens easily, and she slides out the heavy slip of paper inside, frowning down at the fancy script.

“This is…”

“It’s a gift certificate,” Serena interjects. There’s something in her voice that Bernie can’t quite define, a hesitance that doesn’t seem to make any sense. “Dinner for two at _Sartoria_. Everything is included - wine, dessert, the works.”

Bernie’s eyes widen. _Sartoria_ is the premier italian restaurant in the greater Holby area, known for its spectacular food, extensive wine list, and eye-wateringly high prices to match.

“Serena,” she breathes, stunned. “This, this must’ve cost you a fortune! I can’t take this.” She holds the paper out. “It’s too much.”

“No Bernie, it isn’t.” Serena looks a little pale, but determined, ignoring the certificate being pushed her direction. “You deserve that and so much more. When I think about how things were before you came to St Winifred’s, I-“ She breaks off, swallowing hard. “I’m just so glad to have you in my life.”

Warmth blossoms in Bernie’s chest, unexpected tears pricking behind her eyes. She’s not sure how she got lucky enough to have a friend like Serena, often fears she doesn’t deserve her. This just goes to prove that she’s right to bury her feelings, she thinks. How can she possibly risk it?

“Thank you,” she manages, voice huskier than normal. That strange look is still on Serena’s face, her breath coming a little quick.

“I, I should tell you that there’s a bit of an ulterior motive to the gift.”

Bernie grins affectionately. “Of course you’re coming with me, Serena. Who else would I even ask? Besides, you know I’m terrible at picking wine. It would be a waste to go without my personal sommelier,” she teases, slightly concerned when Serena can only summon a wan smile in return.

“Yes, it would. But it-, it’s not just that.” Serena takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “I wanted- I mean, I meant that...I thought we could go together. O-on a date.”

It takes a few heartbeats for Serena’s words to sink in. Once they do, it’s as if static has encased Bernie’s brain, flooding it with a white noise that makes it impossible to think, to respond. She knows she should say something, rather than standing there gawping like a carp, but words abandon her entirely. 

Something like panic crosses Serena’s face, the remaining color leeching away.

“Oh, god. I’ve got it wrong, haven’t I?” She wrings her hands, clearly distraught. “I, I’m so sorry. Please, just forget that I said anything. I just thought- oh what does it matter what I thought. I’m a bloody fool. Trying to drop hints about Cathy Gale like a prat. As if you would ever be interested. Just tell me I haven’t ruined everything, that we can still be friends. Please, Bernie. Say something?”

The white noise fades, like the sunrise burning off the clouds, leaving Bernie feeling like she’s glowing from the inside. A slow, wondrous grin splits her face, but Serena doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in her self-flagellation. Bernie knows all too well how Serena can be when she’s upset like this, knows that the torrent of words is unlikely to stop anytime soon.

Stepping forward, Bernie stops her talking the only way she knows how.

It takes a moment for Serena’s lips to stop moving. They tense, then go soft against Bernie’s own, vibrating with a soft moan that sets Bernie’s brain buzzing. She slides her arms around Serena’s waist, one hand splayed wide against the curve of her spine, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric as they kiss and kiss. 

It’s a million times better than Bernie imagined, and _oh_ has she imagined this. Now that the shock has passed, Serena more than gives as good as she gets. Her mouth opens eagerly beneath Bernie’s, tongue dipping and tasting, her hands grasping at Bernie’s shoulders, back, anywhere they can reach. One finds purchase in the hair at the nape of Bernie’s neck, tugging slightly, and she can’t hold back the groan of pleasure that shudders through her.

When they finally manage to part, they’re both panting, breathless, little clouds pluming between them in the chill night air. Serena’s lips are swollen, her deep red lipstick smudged, and Bernie can only imagine what a mess she is. Can’t find it in herself to mind when Serena’s curvaceous body is pressed so perfectly against her.

“You didn’t get it wrong,” she says softly, studying Serena’s beautiful face. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?”

“What, did the snogging not give you a clue?” She chuckles as Serena pouts, tightening her grip to keep her in place. “I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time.”

“So have I.” Serena’s eyes drop to her mouth again, and the desire Bernie sees there sets her heart pounding. “Do you think anyone is looking for us?”

“Why? Do you want to go back in?”

Serena’s hand clenches in Bernie’s hair, pulling her down until their foreheads meet, her breath gusting warmly across Bernie’s lips.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” Bernie growls, pulling Serena into another deep, searching kiss.


End file.
